I have always valued my privacy
by Mantida
Summary: An exclusive authorized interview with the Balrog of Moria. Knowledgeable and unbiased opinions on such diverse subjects as Rings of Power, Dwarves, Orcs, and Internet Tolkien fora.


What fascinating places those Internet fora are... So many knowledgeable people, so many discussions... And the character of my upper limbs and my volant abilities seem to be one of the most hotly debated topics. All this interest in my person is very flattering, of course, if slightly embarassing.  
  
Because, you know, I'm really surprised at the reputation I'm having here. I don't think I have ever done anything momentous enough to deserve it. The only thing I have ever wanted from life was to have some peace and quiet, and uninterrupted sleep.  
  
All right, so there was this little matter with the Dwarves. But I had just woken up after several millenia of sleep, and was more than slightly confused then. And have you ever woken up with the same headache you had gone to sleep with, and found yourself surrounded by hammering Dwarves? No, you haven't? So, please excuse this personal remark, but perhaps you should be less judgemental about my reaction.  
  
No, no offence taken. And I'm ready to proceed with my story.  
  
After the Dwarves left, it was relatively quiet for some time. I actually believe it would have stayed that way, if not for this bustling meddler. I'm sorry for the colloquialism, but there is no other word to describe him.  
  
Who am I referring to? Why, Sauron, who else. Always a troublemaker, always stirring something up. And always so restless, always rushing up and down. Eregion, Barad-dur, Númenor, Barad-dur, Dol Guldur, Barad-dur... Couldn't he settle down once and for good? Even thinking of all this activity makes me feel tired. Definitely not my kind of person.  
  
The ring? What ring? Ah, Sauron's ring. Yes, I can vaguely recollect Sauron complaining about losing some rings. I could never make head or tail of this story. But you are right, he seemed strangely obsessed with rings. Strictly between us, I blame the company he used to keep. He had never exhibited any interest in jewelry until he started to mingle with the Elves. Not that I have any prejudice against the Elves, excellent people, but... You know what I mean. Not the most masculine, some of them.  
  
But I'm digressing. Let's go back to the topic.  
  
I knew from the very beginning that I should have never agreed to let those Orcs inside. Now, please don't think I have anything against the Orcs: some of my best friends are Orcs. But I knew that there might be troubles. They don't excel at diplomacy, to put it mildly.  
  
Why did I agree then? You know how it goes with those old colleagues... Sometimes it's difficult to refuse a small favour, especially when someone is so insistent as Sauron. And at least Orcs could be persuaded to keep quiet and not to hammer.  
  
However, troubles soon ensued, in the shape of Orcs and Dwarves fighting. Fortunately, not inside Moria, but everywhere around. I'm not going to pass judgement here, I'm sure both sides had their reasons, but for a quiet and retiring person like me it was really most disturbing.  
  
The war ended, but afterwards the situation only got from bad to worse. Hardly a decade of unbroken sleep. A nightmare. One would say that Moria is a highway, judging from the amount of traffic I had to suffer there.  
  
Olórin showed first, and I was even almost tempted to talk to him then. It had been some time since we last met. But, you know Olórin. You encourage him once, and you will never get rid of him afterwards. Always in and out, invited or not. Not that my silence helped, as it turned out.  
  
How have you called him? Gandalf? Mithrandir? How many names does he have? I see... Personally, I don't see a necessity of having a name at all, much less so many of them. This multiplicity is in slightly bad taste, in my opinion, and even a bit suspicious. Not that Sauron is any better in this respect, of course.  
  
But I'm digressing again.  
  
The next visitor was some furtively moving, shaggy human. Frankly speaking, he didn't make a best impression on me. This creeping made me uneasy. And I hope I'm not snobbish, but the state of his clothes... Not to mention his hair...  
  
Ah, so the description seems familiar to you? And you're saying that this shifty-looking human has even more names than Olórin... Now, why am I not surprized?  
  
Next, there came the Dwarves again, and in large numbers. Of course, they started hammering practically from the day one. When they were taking a break from hammering, they were squabbling with the Orcs. I almost despaired, but I really tried to be patient this time. I didn't make any steps for the whole four years. But I was getting permanent insomnia, and just couldn't stand it any longer...  
  
Afterwards, I took a much needed nap, but, naturally, it didn't last long. Unfortunately, when I'm asleep, I'm really sensitive to noise. Someone drops something, and it's enough for me to wake up. It was the same that time, I believe.  
  
I came up to inquire and who did I see? Olórin and the shifty-looking human came together this time, and a very motley crowd came with them. One Dwarf. Only to be expected, they just can't stay away from Moria. One anorectic Elf. It seems they don't make Elves like they used to in my time, or perhaps young Elves don't get enough food nowadays. One more human, also suspicious-looking, but marginally less unkept. And, finally, four strange, small, wooly creatures. Like small Dwarves, but with shaven faces. In short, a travelling circus. I was surprised not to see a performing pony with them.  
  
I was just looking at them, hoping for some kind of introduction, when Olórin, without as much as 'Good morning', started to shout at me. I admit, I get nervous when people behave like that. And this name-calling... What kind of society he associated himself with?  
  
Thank you, your account explains a lot.  
  
I'm sorry to say that it came to blows between Olórin and me, and I believe you all know the rest of the story... Forgive me if I'm not going to dwell on this. Not a pleasant memory, I assure you.  
  
And that's how my activities in Middle-earth ceased. Now, please judge for yourself, don't you have any more interesting subjects to discuss? What's so fascinating in my physical appearance? Obviously, it's up to you to decide, but please consider that I have always been a rather reclusive person, and I value my privacy.

Author's notes: Written for one of those Tolkien fora on which the subject of Balrog's wings is being constantly debated to death. Not beta-read.


End file.
